For the last* time, ISLAM IS NOT A RACE! I’m going to dumb this down as much as possible, without resorting to the use of Crayons.

Religions are beliefs that people choose to accept. A race is (if anything) a set of genetic similarities shared by groups of people. People are born with those features, so it’s not really fair to judge them. On the other hand, judging a group of people for choosing to believe that murder is a justifiable punishment for mocking their religion is perfectly reasonable, and most certainly is not racist.

23% (1.57 billion people) of the planet is Muslim. 57 countries contain a Muslim majority. 62% of the Muslim population lives in Asia. Approximately 7 million Muslims live in the United States. There are Muslims everywhere, and they sure as Hell didn’t all come from Arab countries. The Muslim population is as diverse, racially, as that of Christianity. Continue reading →

Thank you for knowing how to take a joke. And thank you for not murdering me.

While we may disagree on some things, about the worst thing I can expect from you is to be unfriended, screamed at, insulted or kicked out of bed. I appreciate those of you who are willing to engage in lively, civilized debate with me. It’s good and healthy for all of us. And while I can’t help but find many of your beliefs laughably childish, comically imbecilic, and genuinely detrimental to the whole of civilization, I would defend your rights to those beliefs, and the freedom to speak about them, with my life, if necessary. But here’s the thing. I will never, ever, stop making fun of religion.

As long as there are women being honor raped or forcibly circumcised, I will not stop.

As long as there are gays being persecuted, ostracized or murdered, I will not stop.

As long as children are being taught to be ashamed of their bodies, and saddled with a lifetime of guilt and dysfunctional relationships, I will not stop.

As long as there are politicians, preachers and businessmen actively denying climate change because they believe that it is Man’s destiny to reap his fill of rewards from the Earth, undaunted, I will not stop. Continue reading →

You know that digital readout thing that the Terminator has that gives him all the vital stats in any given situation? I have that too. Except, instead it’s just a voice in my head reminding me of what a fuck-up I am. It says, “Hey, fat-ass! Get a job. Your whole existence is a fantasy. No one cares what you think. No one will ever love you. Your friends are embarrassed by you. Your parents wish they’d been better at birth control.”And so on.

All of these thoughts circulate through my head, more or less constantly. That means that, in any given situation, I have to cycle through this menu of self-deprecation before any action can be taken or words can be spoken. So, if I’m talking to you, it’s safe to assume that I have all of those thoughts before whatever thought that actually comes out in words. It can get exhausting.

I think that’s what makes me a drug and alcohol person. Chemicals have a nice way of stripping out all that noise. I think that’s why I tend to be more creative and/or funny when drunk or hungover. That’s when I just get to be me. That’s when it’s fun.

Last night, I had the strangest dream about my upcoming high school reunion. It wasn’t a dream, so much as a twisted, soul-crushing nightmare. Not altogether different from my actual high school experience, actually. To put things in perspective: I woke up suddenly, in a panicked state. Breathing heavily. So, of course, I picked up my phone and started looking for distractions. I somehow came upon a collection of pictures* featuring all sorts of horrifying bugs and snakes and other assorted monsters that evidently haunt the streets and toilets of Australia. Then came a video of somebody popping a colossal pustule** of some kind on what appeared to be the back of their neck. It was…disconcerting…and certainly ranked among the most stomach-churning, vomitous events I have ever witnessed. And yet, it hasn’t bothered me nearly as much in daylight as the memories both of the dream, and of high school itself. So anyway, I guess I’m just gonna hold off on that RSVP for now, you guys.

Mark Twain published Tom Sawyer in 1876, at the age of 41. He then published Huckleberry Finn in 1883, at the age of 47, give or take. Prior to this time he was basically unknown. He bounced from town to town, and job to job, trying to find his place in the world. Ernest Hemingway (a writer of some note) later wrote that “All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn.” Now, I am not saying that I can compare to Mr. Twain, nor do I ever expect to receive such a glowing review from Mr. Hemingway. What I’m saying is, maybe just calm down a little bit and try having some faith in me. It would go a long way toward making our phone calls a little less tense. Not everybody can figure their shit out in their 20’s, and I think it would be real nice if you would just…blah blah blah. Oh, fuck it. I’m just gonna drink some more wine and then make you stand in line for an autograph when I finally get published.

I will say this, though- A life without art is no life, at all. If I can make just one person laugh, or think twice, or even just feel something, every day, then I have contributed something of value to Humanity. I’m not built for a day job. Sorry. It seems to me that you should be proud of that. Or at least feel kinda cool. I mean, what parent really dreams of hatching a mid-level executive at a vacuum factory? I don’t expect you to see my point, but I’m glad I made it.

Hugs forever, Rob

PS: Apologies to any vacuum factory executives who may have taken offense. It’s nothing personal.

This morning, a friend sent me a link to a job opportunity in Seattle. It’s a web-based-B2B-something-something-travel-site that is hiring for a whole bunch of positions. The application process was two parts; a form on their website, and an e-mail with cover letter and resume.

The final question on the form asked: “If you were a planet, which one would you be, and why?” So, of course, my answer was rad.

“Endor. Definitely Endor. Because I’m short, stocky and furry. Also, I carry a spear most days.

Technically, Endor is a moon, not a planet. I hope I won’t lose points for that. I mean, it has all of the properties of a planet. It sustains LIFE, for crying out loud! Hardly any of the planets can do that. So, let’s not get hung up on scientific semantics. I’m not applying to be a scientist, after all.”

And then I submitted my cover letter and resume, along with the following e-mail. Continue reading →

Today, I received this response from a company to which I’d applied, a few weeks ago. The company, Curious.com, produces a variety of educational videos geared toward everything from household how-to projects, to photography tutorials, to history lessons. They were looking for marketing people, or something. I don’t remember, but it really doesn’t matter. Looks like it’ll be a bit longer before I can start paying that pesky back-rent. My parents continue to be proud.

“Hi Rob, Thanks for your interest in Curious, and sorry for the delay in getting back to you. I gotta say, a cover letter that… bold… basically narrows the companies who will give you an interview. Unfortunately, we’re not one of those companies. But we wish you the best of luck in finding the perfect match for you! Cheers”

The job posting requested the usual resume/cover letter combo, plus “a cover letter which states your “bucket learning list” of five things you want to learn before you kick the aforementioned bucket”. Here’s what I sent. Continue reading →

So, what happens if they aim at the front? Or ANY of the 3-out-of-4 sides that are not protected?

In the wake of yet another school shooting, this time in my hometown of Seattle, in a neighborhood very familiar to me, there has been another round of the same tired, he-said-she-said debate between insecure, sex-starved illiterate gun enthusiasts and love-mongering, spineless, patchouli-swilling opponents of gun-based child murder. But there is something different, this time. A new player has emerged. While the proponents of “freedom at all costs” wage their endless battle with the “actual gun violence is way scarier than hypothetical government tyranny, and should therefore take precedence over an outdated and generally misunderstood Constitutional Amendment” crowd, somebody actually figured out a way to make some money off of all this fear, loathing and child slaughter. Wait, what? Continue reading →

We’re all here together, sharing this minuscule blip on an infinite cosmic clock. The universe is not a novel. It has no story, no character arc. It just is. It has pieces and parts and sounds and little tiny things that happen to live on a little tiny speck in the midst of a bunch of other little tiny specks…for an insignificant hiccup of time. And then later, it won’t.

Forget about the money and the houses and the cars and the things. You can’t take them with you, and there’s no prize for building the biggest pile. 100 billion people have lived and died before you. There’s no more room in Heaven. Your life is its own reward. Don’t bother preparing for another one. It’s not coming. So make it count.

Everyone you know, love, or admire will die. There’s no way around it. All you can do is appreciate them, love them and learn from them as much as you can, before they go. And be sure to be someone worth knowing, loving and admiring, so that, in case you go first, you leave behind a positive, lasting memory for those who knew you. That’s it. That’s all there is. Don’t waste any time.

I see that you are still using my content on your new company website. Once again, I remind you that you DO NOT HAVE MY PERMISSION to use that content.

Obviously, you have zero respect either for me, personally, my work, or my rights. Let me be plain. If you do not remove ALL of my work from your current site (or pay me for it) I will make it my #1 goal in life to ruin your business. Which won’t be hard, given what a degenerate, thieving, dishonest drunken mess you have turned out to be. I am perfectly within my rights (some might even argue ethically obligated) to discuss my experience working with you, and the staggering number of complaints I’ve dealt with from disgruntled clients and vendors, in the public domain, via Google, Yelp!, Facebook, etc.

I hate you. I hate you to the center of my being. There is no other person, in my entire life, for which I hold such contempt. You are a vile, despicable, soulless leach, sucking the life out of your so-called “friends” while flashing them your devious and duplicitous grin. You have taken advantage of my good will, stolen money from me, and caused me untold emotional trauma for years, and now I am left with nothing. You have pushed me into a corner, from which I no longer have any escape. What happens next is entirely your own fault, and I will stop at nothing to make sure the whole world knows it. Continue reading →

As a freelance writer, I take on clients and projects with a broad range of topics. It can be difficult to find the proper “voice” that fits with each client’s needs. Sometimes, a bit too much of my own personal style bleeds into my corporate work, and the train can get away from the tracks. Here’s an example. This post was supposed to highlight the special family programming available from a major home entertainment provider.

Needless to say, this post will NOT be appearing on the company website.

Finding quality family entertainment can be hard. Sports cost a lot of money, and often result in brain injuries, or if you’re kid is the awkward, unathletic type, a lifetime of shame and frustration. Parks are full of scary drug addicts and sex workers, and you’re always hearing about kids getting AIDS from dirty needles hidden between grains of sand and shards of broken crack pipes.

Take-off. First song of the trip is Honky Tonk Women, which seems fitting. The ascent was bumpy, and would have benefited greatly from more alcohol. Ironically, and somewhat cruelly, given that I am currently too broke to buy any booze, the entire cabin area back here in row 37 smells like recently spilled beer. I haven’t figured out why, but I’m guessing the flight in from Houston got a little out of control. One of the attendants is pretty hot, especially for a flight attendant, the majority of whom seem to be held together with gauze and duct tape. I’m strategizing a charm offensive that might result in some complimentary drinks. It’s a new thing I’m doing. Charm. Whereas, historically, “offensive” was probably the more operative term, of the two. So we’ll see.

The security was unusually lax this morning. I breezed through, from curb to gate, in less than 10 minutes. The TSA didn’t berate, belittle or defile me in any way. There wasn’t even the x-ray spinning thing or a public genital pat-down. Where did the love go? I’ve grown fond of the institutionalized public humiliation. It has become almost a fetish, really. Oh well, at least my gate was literally the closest one to the check point. I put my boots and belt back on and was immediately ready to board. Or would have been, had the flight not been delayed by a half hour. So, instead of boarding, I had another in a seemingly endless series of angry phone calls bitching about a deadbeat client who just can’t seem to figure out how to pay her bill. But alas, the future promised an escape from all of that. From the anger, from the stress. From any notions of responsibility, maturity or sobriety. The future was Mardi Gras. Continue reading →

I know I’ve made a lot of jokes about football. Its fans, its players, and the preposterous amounts of money spent on its behalf. And while I still cannot abide the exorbitant sums spent by fans who should instead be buying books for their children, the way that sports, in general, have largely replaced religion as the nation’s primary opiate, or the outrageous paychecks handed down to privileged and entitled thugs who amount to little more then modern day gladiators with rap sheets as long as their stretch Hummers, I would be remiss if I did not admit that there are some rather glowing, shining exceptions. Some of these guys are pretty damn amazing.

The Seahawks, as a team, are exceptional this year. But not because they are winning games. That’s nice, and I enjoy watching them win, especially after a lifetime of shame and sorrow, watching my hometown team get crushed year after dismal year. No. That’s not why I’m paying attention again. I’m paying attention again because of guys like Derrick Coleman. I’m paying attention because these guys are making so much good come out of their fame and fortune. I’m paying attention because I am inspired not only by their teamwork, and their ability to overcome adversity, but by their willingness to give back to society, to be genuine role models. By their exceptionalism, itself. Because they are intelligent and articulate and kind and good. Because they are proving that fame and fortune are not the point to all of this, and that they do not necessarily corrupt those who find them.

Watch this video. I dare you not to choke up, at least a little bit. No matter what happens on Sunday, a sizable chunk of my faith in humanity has been restored today, and for that I am truly grateful.

Anybody else get the nagging feeling that the new Pope is gonna get assassinated? He’s just so…GOOD! The power structure behind the throne has got to be squirming. I mean…he’s just so openly Christian! Like, CHRISTIAN Christian. Doing good deeds, loving those in need, accepting those with different beliefs, turning the other cheek. This compassion will not stand, man!

But seriously. Every time he does some awesome new thing, like being sympathetic to gays and atheists (my homies), or trashing Capitalism and openly advocating the rights of the poor, I get the strange desire to actually…LIKE him. While that’s unique and warm and fuzzy for me, personally, I just know there are some (probably several) old-school nutbags out there that want to shut this guy up, to maintain the status quo of ignorance and persecution of anyone with alternative beliefs. Just like Ghandi, MLK and many other brave, outspoken proponents of peace and love (*cough* Jesus *cough*), Pope Frank is risking everything to do some genuine good. For that, he has my respect.

I’m just not so sure that having the respect of people like me is healthy for him. After all, I am a heretic, a heathen and a blasphemer. People in his club used to actively persecute, torture and murder the people in mine. Many of them would like to continue doing so, which puts him directly at odds with his own followers. My bet is that it will be one of his own that decides to silence him. I really hope I’m wrong…but my gut is usually right.